Hetalian Anthology of Poetry
by Maddeline Kirkland-Bonnefoy
Summary: Everyone has their own way of expressing things; read the poems of those who use written words to vent their inner pain. - Rated for subjects that will be touches upon.
1. Of Sorrow and Love

**Since fanfiction hates poem formatting, I used elipses to mark the different stanzas. **

**WARNING(S): LOSTS OF HEADCANONS. Um. 1) Austria + Liechtenstein = Father and daughter; 2) Austria is the asexual man-whore of Europe because he's been married... _a lot_; 3) Liechten has abandonment issues (and others which we will get to later); and 4) Austria was a neglectful parent simply because he wasn't emotionally capable of taking care of Liech, and didn't want to screw her up even more.**

**Dedication: To mein Papa, Oesterreich; Ich lieb dich, Papa, no matter what.**

* * *

Pianos and etiquette,

"Das ist gut," and "Das is recht."

A young lady and her Father,

Never truly knew her Mother.

...

Scales and arpeggios,

A violin and a piano.

She hides all emotion, blanks her face,

Her Father has married; again she is second place.

...

War, weddings, and solved strife,

She saw many a marriage in her life.

He is an empire, she his child,

Very young, did she learn to lie and hide.

...

A Great War sweeps across the land,

She cannot hide behind a protective hand.

It is over, and she must leave,

She will still love him, think of him every morning and eve.

...

She cannot survive, she stares Death in the face,

Her brother saves her, but she sees her Father's face.

The ribbon is purple, like his eyes,

"I like the color," she smiles and lies.

...

The years pass, they become distant,

She begins to wonder if her past were just imagined.

They meet, she a young woman grown,

He a man who's power had long since flown.

...

She is tentative in her wish to reconnect,

He seems nothing but apathetic.

She wonders if he ever really cared,

Or he just felt he had to be there.


	2. Never Irreplacebale

**And here's the second poem in the series, again from Liechtenstein. More angst, is all I really have to say.**

**WARNING(S): HEAVILY implied cutting, and the same headcaonons as in the first chapter/poem.**

**Dedication: Again, dedicated to mein Papa.**

* * *

Down my arms it runs, in rivers of red;

These are the tears I dare not shed.

They make the voices in my head silent,

When music cannot make them quiet.

...

"Worthless," "stupid," "baby;"  
These are some things they say to me.

Late at night the true tears come and I feel uncertainty –

I doubt that my Father has ever cared for me.

...

For sparse moments I believe,

Perhaps my Mother might love me.

Then I remind myself it doesn't matter,

Because I will never know him or her.

...

Blood runs in rivers, in the bath at the end of each day;

I wear dresses with longer sleeves, and cuffs made of lace.

Daily, I play the role of the well-bred young lady,

And I wonder if anyone truly sees me.

...

The days pass, the summer, winter, spring, and fall,

And I will forever be my Father's porcelain doll.

I watch the men and women come and go, from near and far,

And I must conclude, I am as replaceable as they are.


	3. Family Portrait

Third poem; they might come in chunks like this, or one every few months, as I have the muse for them. This one's from Fem!Canada, and... I don't really think any more explanaion is needed.

WARNING(S): MORE headcanons... Abusive!Alcoholic!Mama!England, Abused!Self-harming!Fem!Canada, Run-away!Revolutionary!Fem!America, and Absent!Loved!Papa!France. Basically, the title says it all.

Dedication: To my Papa - je t'apprecie vraiment~

* * *

The sky fades, from dark blue to back,

Much like the bruises on my arms, legs, and back.

My sight is gone, as I curl up to hide from my fears,

One eye swollen shut, the other a violet blurred by tears.

...

Those I once dearly loved are now gone,

But I can still dream of them until dawn.

I am in pain, but I know sooner or later,

The pain in my heart will become much greater.

...

My sister is gone, in a blaze of Revolution,

I take what she said as truth, never forgotten.

Mother is gone or often quite unstable,

I still try to love him, but know not if I am able.

...

My Father's place in my world is a long-empty space,

He gave me away, but the love I have for him cannot be erased.

My family is broken, as is my heart,

I wonder if we will forever be apart.

...

Eventually, I clean myself up, wincing at my own touch –

How, oh God how, have we all fallen apart so very much?

The glass of a family portrait breaks the silence, when it shatters as it hits the floor;

I use it to write out my pain on myself, so I can teach myself to not hurt anymore.


End file.
